The Princes
by feyfollower
Summary: Who really are the princes who saved the maidens in stories? Are they as kind and compassionate as the Princesses whom they rescued? These are the tales of the men who saved the princesses from the tales that we know. Gather round and listen with trepidation, for you'll realise that it may not have been happily ever after after all.
1. Prologue

_**Disclaimer: **__The following are based on both the Grimm and Disney versions of the fairytales. I own nothing except what you don't recognise. There are obvious (& subtle) hints of both versions, so if you recognise something from either of them, congrats you are an honorary 'Grimmer' and or 'Disneyite'. _

**Prologue**

Come one, come all and learn of the tales of men who won the hearts of the fairest maidens in the seven kingdoms. Have you ever asked who these princes really were? What they did before they stumbled upon the fair maidens of yore.

Dig a little deeper, and you will find that these princes may not have been the most noble or worthy men in the land to link themselves to these maidens and princesses.

But what, I hear you ask, could blemish the names of these reputable princes? The tales tell of acts of bravery, fearlessness and sacrifice, of knights riding white horses with swords of fabled properties. Men willing to sacrifice their lives for maidens shrouded in mystery and forgotten by time.

But alas, time has been kind to these men and has lied to those seeking to know their tales. Their histories were altered favourably.

The reality of their reigns and natures has been hidden. Until now…

So listen friends, with disgust, to these tales of horror. As you do, you will find yourself wondering how such tales were forgotten, only to be replaced with the stories we know of now. You will find yourself contemplating the true meaning of 'happily ever after', but more importantly questioning your understanding of the Princes. After all the tales tell the stories of the princesses, but lack any proper explanation of the Princes.

After being told these tales you will question how 'happily' the princesses all lived in their 'ever afters'…


	2. Assaulted Slumber or The Letter

_**AU: **__So originally I was going to write the Grimm version of this tale, which for those of you who haven't read it really is creepy yet totally worth reading. But around halfway through writing this I began to realise that I couldn't write anything that dark (and quite honestly that strange). So this took a turn from my original plan and because of that there is now only an implied Grimm undertone to this. But the implication is, in itself, enough for me. _

**Chapter 1 – Assaulted Slumber / The Letter**

Our first tale begins sixteen years ago, at the christening of a baby girl, whose gifts of beauty, song and grace enchanted all those who grew to love her. She was pursued by a curse of a death-like sleep, whereupon on her sixteenth birthday she pricked her finger on a spinning wheel and was lost to the world in an enchanted slumber. A century passed by the castle and its slumbering inhabitants, as a forest of thorns, vines and ivy grew around the ancient castle, until it was disturbed.

Erik had always heard the tales of the Princess in the castle. It was said that she was cursed to remain in a death-like sleep until 'true love's kiss' awakened her. These tales alone would not have persuaded Erik to contemplate braving the forest of thorns and vines around the golden castle. The draw Erik felt towards the castle was in the description of the Princesses beauty.

She was said to be as radiant as the sun. Her hair could substitute gold and, though in sleep, her cheeks remained as pink as if she were blushing and conscious. Her lips were said to be as red as the apples in the orchards and just as succulent. She was supposedly a fragile, delicate beauty lying, unmoving, in her sleep deep in the castle surrounded by thorns.

The tales surrounding her beauty were never the same and always extravagant. They were changing every time, although retaining her character hair and lips.

Each time he listened to the tales, Erik found himself becoming more fascinated and enthralled by the woman hidden behind the thorns.

After hearing the tale retold thousands of times, Erik's desire to see this woman was growing. He had seen almost all the women in his kingdom (and been with many) and none of them compared to the beauty she inspired. She inspired feelings in Erik, that he had not (as of yet) been able to replicate with any other woman.

He had tried. Ever since hearing of her beauty, all he had been able to see was his somewhat pale imitation of his portrait of her. Every woman, no matter if she was brunette or darker skin or was the least beautiful woman he knew, he would picture a small pale blonde beauty.

He found it disconcerting, to say the least.

Erik could think of only one way to overcome his problem.

He would go see the elusive girl in the thorned castle.

He would see her beauty, because he was sure he had idolised her, making her more angelic than was possible. He was sure the beauty he was imagining was impossible and unattainable to any woman in his kingdom or on earth. He would find her and remove her image from his mind.

And so Erik rode out towards the thorned castle on his trusted steed.

He knew he was reaching the end of his journey when trees he passed were becoming twisted and entangled by vines and thorns. The path was barely recognisable. The thorns began to cut through his clothing, and yet he remained persistent.

The dawn that had set out with him on his journey was fading and just as the last light of the sun disappeared under the horizon he finally reached the drawbridge of the castle. Passing under the callis he looked around the castle's courtyard. A flag fluttered in the breeze as it hung from the wall and as Erik looked around his heart clenched. It was the feeling of being watched.

His gaze lifted to search the openings of the walls. There were hundreds of windows, variously sized. It was as he trailed his eyes over castle walls when he realised his search for the princess was only half completed.

Far from entering the castle gates to find her lying before him, he would have to search every room within the castle.

His horse shifted and moved around irritably. Erik shared its frustration, there had to be hundreds of rooms within the structure.

The process of having to search through each room would be monumental. As Erik turned his horse back towards the gate his image of the princess sprang to his mind. Gorgeous golden hair lying sprawled on the pillow. Red lips, as though freshly painted, and pale pink cheeks rested on the pillow. His heartbeat began to thump faster in speed.

With renewed determination, Erik jumped off his horse, running into the castle and beginning his search.

He searched for hours until finally he found her.

The height of the topmost tower, at the head of the stairs that Erik had run up lead to a large room that was bare sans a large king size bed that was in the centre of the room.

His footsteps slowed as he moved closer to the bed.

He was anxious to look upon the famed beauty, yet he was uneasy. He was concerned that his imagination had formed such an angelic beauty that the reality would never compete with his own creation. He had cursed himself. No woman on the face of the earth could be as flawless as the one in his mind.

It was with extreme trepidation when Erik finally beheld the beauty lying on the bed.

She was more gorgeous than life would allow for any other.

Erik stepped closer to the bed, not taking his eyes away from the figure lying motionless before him.

Her beauty was beyond his imagination. Too beautiful to be real.

It took seconds for his eyes to begin to fully appreciate the angelic figure, once they did however, they truly began to see her.

Blonde hair the colour of radiant gold was spread out on the pillow under her head and its length hung from the bed, draping delicately to just barely touch the floor. Unblemished porcelain skin contrasted almost violently with her dark maroon lips. Erik found himself having expected a bright pink or even red, but the maroon seemed to play off her blonde hair better.

Erik tentatively reached down to touch the woman before him. The tips of his fingers brushed gently against her cheek, drawing a line along her cheekbone towards her hairline.

Her skin was not cold as he had expected it to be. It was warm… and moving…

She was still breathing.

Erik's breathing hitched in his throat and his heart rate accelerated.

She was still alive.

What was the legend? Only a kiss would wake her?

Erik looked down at the motionless woman before him, drinking in her radiance.

She was helpless, he alone could save her. He was the one that could bring her back from her deathlike slumber. He was the only one who, in over a century, been able to successfully navigate his way through the forest of thorns and vines that had hidden the castle. He was the sole person to have navigated his way through.

He laughed softly to himself, looking around the room as he did.

That was when he noticed the room itself. Properly noticed it.

There was a light layer of dust that was settled over everything around the room. As he turned around he could see his own footsteps marked in the dust, quite clearly. However, there were also faint impressions of footsteps that were clearly not his.

That was when his eyes caught sight of an envelope folded at the princess' feet.

He frowned, picking up the envelope and opening it.

_Princess, _

_Firstly I apologise for not using your name, if I knew it, be assured I would use it. _

_Above all else I apologise for not waking you up when I had the opportunity to. I was a fool. But trust me when I say I believe it was in your interest not to be woken, I have never met a princess who has been kissed by a peasant. I would not wish to offend._

_I will return, have no doubt. I will not leave you alone at the mercy of others. _

_I will return. I will garner knowledge and training, and I will find a place in court. Once I have achieved that I will return to you as a knight of the court. I apologise for not being able to wake you now. But your beauty has made me realise that I am unable to wake you. I do not deserve to wake you, a princess of such divine beauty should not be woken by a peasant. _

_I am aware that it would take me years for myself to feel as though I would deserve to spend even a day with you. But I will come back before the year in which I am writing this is out. If before that time another comes to save you, I pray he is more deserving than I was when I first set my eyes upon you. _

_I am sorry. _

The note was not signed.

Erik held the note, reading it again, letting the words sink into his mind.

He was not the first to set eyes upon this woman.

That knowledge filled him with confusion and envy. He was not the first person to fight through the thorns. He was not the first to step through the castle and search the rooms for the princess. He was not the first to step through the layer of dust that had settled. He was not the first.

But he would be the only one to kiss her. His would be the kiss that would set the princess free. He would be the one to waken her.

Erik felt a shiver of exhilaration run through his body. She would be his before she awoke. He would not kiss her yet; he would not kiss her until she was completely his.

She awoke slowly, her eyes fluttering at the onslaught of light. She sighed, feeling content with her slumber, though still somewhat unwilling to awaken. It had been such a lovely dream…

Although she tried to remember the dream the only thing she could really remember was light sandy coloured hair and an intense attraction on her behalf. Her chest was still warm from the yearning in her heart. She had gotten to know him so well in her dream. They had danced in the woods and fallen in love dancing under the stars together in the fields. She had loved him at once in her dreams.

She stretched her arms and pointed her toes, hard. She gasped, her entire body felt stiff and sore. Some parts more than others.

Opening her eyes she jerked backwards. Staring at her were two dark brown eyes. The first thing that struck her was that they were cold and hard. They were almost calculating. The colour of the eyes should have been warm with the corners turned up in a smile with a gleam. But they were not. With a start she realised she had been expecting the eyes from her dream.

He had taken her away on his horse and announced that they would be married as soon as was possible. Aurora felt uneasy at hearing his intention. But she already knew that he had claimed her as his. She could feel it with every step and had seen the evidence of it when she had woken. She was sickened.

She found it when he had showed her to the hall, it was sticking out of his coat pocket when she slid it out and hid it in her own cloak. She had always been doing things like that. Sly things. Stealing things that people wouldn't notice, just to prove to herself that she could.

It was after she was led to her own room within the palace and finally left in peace that she opened the envelope and read its contents.

At the end of the letter she realised that she had sunk to the floor and tears were falling down her cheeks.

The letter … The writer…

Aurora felt as though she was on a ship, she was swaying back and forth, breathing quick breaths and blinking away the tears that were blurring her vision. She swallowed heavily.

She was marrying… oh god… and out there was … he was waiting for her … he _had_ been waiting for her. She had to remind herself that she already had her future mapped out. It was not her future, not the future she wanted… but it was _a _future.

Still the knowledge that someone out there had waited for her, had tried to be the best they could be… for her, without having met her.

That he was out there, most likely among the knights of the court, and had been doing it for her…. At that moment she knew that she would always be looking, searching through the faces of the court to try and find his. To see what might have been.

She would never be satisfied with Erik. There was going to be a gaping hole in her heart, she knew it. There was going to be a hole for the rest of her life.

A hole that could only ever be patched over with the letter, yet never completely healed.


	3. Never Ending Death or Chapter 31

_Cool. So sorry about the wait. But Uni is hectic at the moment. I will update again when my exams are over in a couple of weeks. But until then you'll just have to make do with this one. _

_Thanks goes to ujemaima whose lovely review took me completely by surprise and gave me the incentive to write this one. (Sorry it's not about the letter writer, but hopefully this is still good…)_

_Not sure how I feel about this. It's so far from my original idea that I'm not really sure how good it is. Still… you know how sometimes the story just seems to pull itself in one direction and you try and pull it back and it goes well f**k you and leaves you in a ball of dust in the direction that it heads off in… yeah… _

_This is an appropriation of the Grimm story. I feel like I'm getting into the groove of this whole series from here, so hopefully this is better than the last._

Chapter 2 – Never-ending Loss / Chapter Thirty One

The beginning of our second tale takes place before the birth of either hero. It begins with the love of a couple and their young daughter. Their love should have kept them together to see their daughter marry, but death jealously took the mother for his own. The devastation of the father caused him to try and find an imitation of his previous love, marrying more suddenly than many said was proper. The union resulted in the division of wealth between the two, mere months before the father died. From the moment of his death the orphan was made to serve her new siblings and mother. She worked in the mansion that she had previously run around and played in. One night when the child was nineteen a ball was thrown in honour of the prince.

Alexander sat in his room reading a novel; a tale of heroism, piracy and duels between villains and heroic men. He read this tale every year at this time. It had been his mothers chosen tale every time she had read to him as a young child. The last thing that they had read together had been chapter thirty-one.

Alexander had never read past chapter thirty-one.

At first it had seemed disrespectful to his mother, but at some point he began to see it as more than that. It was their connection. She had never read the end of the book, he began doubting that she ever had. So he kept himself in suspense every time, putting down the book after having read the thirty-first chapter. He felt more of a connection to her.

He had read past the chapter once.

He had read the title and first page of the next chapter. He had been about to turn to the next page when screams began erupting from the castle. Throwing down his book he had been about to leave his room when one of the pages of the castle slid in. He informed Alexander that his mothers empty bedroom had abruptly caught fire and that no-one was sure what the immediate cause was, but for the own prince's safety he was to remain in his room.

Downcast, Alexander's eyes had been caught by the spine of the book.

Ever since that day, he had never read past the fateful chapter.

Neither had he leant the book to anyone else. He would not let it be lost or taken from him. Or worse still have the ending revealed to him.

He was pulled from the novel by a his father's voice demanding that he 'stop doing whatever rubbish' he was currently doing and 'hurry down' to the ballroom to begin meeting all the eligible ladies in the kingdom that his father had been able to gather within the last couple of days.

His father was becoming increasingly desperate for him to marry. He often claimed of his surety that he would die before Alexander would marry. This latest ball was another of his father's attempts to find the future heir to the kingdom and the mother of his future grandchildren.

Alexander reluctantly left his room as the bells of the castle began ringing.

He began to run through the castle in a haphazard effort to reach the ballroom before the first guests did.

He smiled as he reached the grand staircase, jumping onto the bannister and sliding all the way down as his mother had taught him. Despite the years that had passed since then, Alexander had always slid down the bannister. It served as a reminder of the times he and his mother had slid down, racing each other to the bottom.

Alexander quickly brushed his pants and straightened his military jacket one last time before walking into the ballroom.

He was assaulted by the sudden outburst of whispers that emanated from every corner of the room. Holding his head high, Alexander faced the crowd of onlookers as the herald began to announce the guests.

"The Princess Rebecca Jane Barkem."

He bowed to the pale faced, dark haired woman before him. She had a heavily angular face offset by her large round brown eyes. Her dress caught his attention, it was the similar to the blue gown that his mother had favoured for her balls, if not a slightly darker colour. But otherwise the princess Rebecca was unremarkable.

"Mademoiselle Augustine Demoir."

Once again, Alexander bowed to the woman presented before him. From his first glance he dismissed her. She was wearing a dress of bright flaming scarlet and tied in her raven hair was a matching scarlet ribbon. Although her gown complemented her olive skin well, Alexander could not see past the red. It reminded him of the flames that he had ben able to see licking out of his mothers window on that fateful day. His eyes didn't linger on Augustine for long.

"Mademoiselle Theodora Mercedes De'Laatour."

Another name. Another bow. This would be a long night.

"The mademoiselles Drusella and Anastasia Tremaine."

Alexander had to stop his eyes from rolling.

As he rose from his bow his eyes were caught by a flash of blue, the exact shade of blue that his mother had favoured.

He swept his eyes along her body and watched as she turned looking around the ballroom. As though she was searching for something.

As she turned towards him, he inhaled sharply. The gentle sloping of the jawline and soft round cheeks were exact replicas of those that had once, a long time ago, been pressed lovingly against his own. Bright sea blue eyes locked onto his own and contrasted vividly with the curved red lips that were shaped in a soft 'o'. Her hair was a light wispy blonde that was held back by a thin black headband. Her limbs were on the thin side but not excessively so and were highlighted by the periwinkle blue dress that she wore.

If he didn't know better, Alexander would've sworn that his mother had stepped out from one of her paintings.

Without a second glance at the girls bowed before him he swept past them in the direction of the periwinkle blue dress.

Who she is or whence she came, he knew not. But he found he didn't care. There was such an astounding similarity between the woman standing before him and the mother that had gone from his life that all other thoughts evaded his concern.

Finding himself standing before her, he invited her to dance, holding out his hand.

Her own hand slipped into his and he instantly found himself remembering when his mother would wrap her hands around his in the winter to warm them.

He lead her onto the ballroom floor and spun her so they were standing together.

The lights dimmed and waltz music began playing from the orchestra.

Alexander repressed a smile.

This was the tune that had been used to teach him how to waltz.

His mother had tried to teach him the steps, he still remembered she had shrugged off every misstep and had tried to let him lead. He had stepped on her toes and dress an inordinate number of times but she had barely winced. The orchestra had played this same tune repeatedly until his mother was satisfied that his steps were near perfect. Her floor length white gown was no longer pristine, it had slight black marks all over the hemline from his feet. He had initially objected, certain (rightly so) that he would step all over it, but she had insisted claiming that she had never and would never wear anything other than a floor-length gown.

Now, as he began to dance with the unknown woman standing before him, the same steps and movements were easy.

She really did look like his mother.

It was not just her appearance from afar. Even the slight glimmer to her eyes and her shy smile reminded him of his mother.

They kept dancing, his eyes taking in her appearance, drinking her in. She was here with him and he would not let her go. He knew within seconds that he would marry this woman.

He lost track of time.

Too soon, she pulled out of his arms suddenly, almost violently, and he could sense her desperation and abrupt fear. He heard the castle bells ringing and echoing throughout the walls of the castle. Midnight.

"Oh… Oh, I'm sorry… I must go…" She whispered, he hardly heard the words.

Alexander watched as her hand seemed to slowly slip from his before she turned and began to run from him.

He began to panic.

He was losing her.

His thoughts were sluggish at first before they began to run through his mind at speeds that he could hardly comprehend. She was going. She was leaving him, only this time it wasn't something that was inevitable. She was willingly leaving him. She was running from him under her own free will.

She must be stopped.

As he realised this, he found that she had already disappeared from his sight. Alexander began following her but found himself caught by the intrepid hoard of women that had similarly attended the ball. The time it took him to detach himself from their grasps had given his partner more than adequate time to escape.

He saw the Duke tentatively climbing the stairs with a guarded expression. As their eyes met the Duke shook his head mutely.

Alexander mechanically bowed and excused himself from the ball, walking the halls towards his room.

She had left. He would never see her again. She had come for the ball… for a chance to dance…

Suddenly he whirled towards his father's room and ran down the length of the hall to reach his father.

Bursting through the doors, he declared another ball should be held. Tomorrow, if possible.

His father had resisted until Alexander mentioned his hope to see the particular woman again. His father had pounced at his words and begun interrogating him on the woman.

Was she pretty? What was her name? Who was her family? Whence had she come from? Had she been pleased with the ball?

Alexander had waved his questions off with a light smile and motion of his hand. Similar questions had been developing in his own mind. He hoped he would have them answered the next night.

A second ball had been announced immediately.

Alexander did not sleep that night. He was contemplating if she would return and what the chances were of him finding her even without her name or family background.

The next night was just as splendid as the previous, if not more.

Alexander stood beside his father's throne, waiting for her arrival. She arrived at half-past ten.

He noticed she was wearing a slim silver dress, not the periwinkle blue of yesterday. She would've looked less like his mother then (she would never have worn anything silver) if not for her hair that remained free of ties or holdings and was falling down her back.

The first thing his mother had done after every ball was to pull her hair out of its elegant style and let it fall down, as this mystery woman's hair did.

Instantly he caught hold of her and led her back amongst the dancers. She had smiled softly, no doubt honoured that she had captured his attention and been taken to dance with him again. And so they danced.

Alexander became lost in the dance and in her eyes. There was a maze of colour, tears and thoughts lingering behind them. They were bright and clear, but as he looked deeper he was sure he could see bewilderment and anxiety in them.

"Would you do me the favour of getting me a drink?"

Alexander watched her mouth move and understood the request but didn't move.

That was not what he had been expecting. Her voice was gentle, like a soft choir all on its own. But he found he had been expecting his mother's voice; a soft trill to every 'r' and a slight harshness to the 'k'. Not the soft, even measured tone she had.

Coming back to the present, he bowed slightly before leaving to get a drink.

Strawberry punch. He remembered the smell hanging off his mother some nights.

She wasn't there when he returned.

Another woman, he thought he recognised her as Gabriella Duerre, came to stand before him and apologised, saying his partner had left in a hurry.

He heard the castle bells ringing again. Midnight.

Narrowing his eyes, he thrust the strawberry punch he was holding towards Gabriella roughly. She took it without a word of complaint and let him storm from the ball room unfollowed.

She had disappeared, without the decency to talk to him. Tell him who she was, her name or family.

Alexander stormed down the hallway before realising that he could repeat last nights appeal.

Upon entering his father's study he repeated the request. His father agreed, but determined that this ball be the final one and that it was to be a masquerade.

Alexander accepted the terms. He was sure he would not have problems identifying his mother's shadow.

The masquerade was without doubt the best ball of the three.

The decorations from the previous two balls had been replaced with bright gold, green, red and black decorations. Red and green curtains hung over the windows, meaning the only light came from large intricate golden chandeliers that the servants had spent all day cleaning and lighting. The ballroom's black marble floor appeared brighter than before and yet retained its haunting quality. Every serving man was dressed in red military robes and Alexander himself wore a dark green military jacket over his scarlet pants. His own mask was black and gold and through its slits he searched for her distinctive golden hair, for surely that would be the only way he would recognise her.

He was not surrounded by a flock of woman eager for his attention, the mask prevented that and allowed him to manoeuvre through the crowd without disruption.

It was at eleven when he finally thought he spotted her.

She was wearing a sunlit yellow gown and mask with black and red detailing.

Walking towards her, he swept into a bow before her, as he looked up he saw her shy smile and instantly knew he had caught her. This time, he was not letting go.

Together they danced.

Alexander kept track of the time as they danced, he was certain that he would be able to dissuade her from leaving suddenly without a proper farewell or explanation. But he found he didn't have the courage to start a conversation with this disappearing girl. He wanted her to be the person he thought he knew. He wanted her to fit his mould, to fit his imagination. He realised he didn't want her to be an individual.

Finally with ten minutes before midnight she became noticeably agitated. Her dancing was affected too. She no longer had the same smooth, cool movements that she had had minutes ago. He knew she was going to try and leave him. And so he began watching for any escape that she could take.

His father had expressly refused his request for guards to line the doors in case she did escape again. He claimed their presence would lead to a less than pleasing atmosphere for the celebration. Alexander agreed, however felt that any precautions should be taken in regards to this woman, who seemed almost desperate to escape. Her determination to escape was really quite astounding.

Her hand reached up to stroke his cheek and Alexander leaned into it. Her hand was so soft, so calming.

It came as a horrible shock to find his mask being almost violently ripped off by her gentle hand. Within seconds he had become surrounded by throngs of masked revellers and she herself had slipped away like a wisp of smoke in the air.

All he could see were masks. Golden, emerald, scarlet and black as dark as the night outside the windows. The smiles radiating from beneath the masks were sharp, almost threatening. Teasing, almost as if they knew she had gotten away and that she would never return.

He was losing her all over again. She had gone again.

He realised he wasn't sure who 'she' was.

Pushing through the crowd took an seemingly exorbitant amount of effort, yet he still managed to pull himself out of the crowded ball room.

He noticed the Duke mounting the stairs towards him. It wasn't until then that Alexander realised the amount of hope he still had that maybe she hadn't gotten away this time. Or maybe she had changed her mind about leaving and was, even now, ascending the stairs towards him.

The Duke's short shake of the head crushed all his hopes.

That was it.

She was well and truly gone.

Turning from the Duke with the intent to lock himself in his room and sit reading the first thirty one chapters of the novel for all eternity he was surprised when the Duke reached out to stop him.

Alexander was about to shrug off the contact when he caught sight of what the Duke had clutched in his hand.

A single glass slipper.

"She appears to have left this on the stairs in her hurry, sire."

An unconscious whimper echoed through the air.

Alexander reached for the slipper, holding it in his hands, suddenly aware of every misfortune that could suddenly occur to destroy this single remarkable entity she had left him.

As if he himself was made of glass, he climbed the stairs to his chamber, holding the slipper to his chest.

According to all reports it was the Duke's idea.

Every woman in the kingdom was to try on the slipper, in the hope of finding the mysterious woman that the Prince had danced with and, as the heralds similarly suggested, fallen deeply, madly in love with.

Alexander had been told he would not – could not – join the search party, for fear of causing over-excitement amongst the woman trying the slipper on. But he was sure the real reason was because his father didn't want the kingdom to witness what his son would do once he found this woman.

Alexander himself wasn't sure what he would do when he saw her again.

Crush her against him and make her swear she would never again leave him, interrogate her to finally learn everything he could about her or punish her as he saw fit.

Days went by and Alexander remained in his chambers, waiting for the moment when his page would announce, with nervous trepidation, that they had found his mothers replica.

His days were spent reading the book or, at his father's insistence, attending tedious matters of state. He found little sleep as his dreams were filled with fears never finding her, or else finding her before losing her again. It was near torture. He wasn't sure how long he would be able to last. His sanity was slipping away with every second of apprehension.

Finally a page came in, and even without hearing the words, Alexander knew. He could see from the page's face that she had finally been found. It was a mixture of trepidation and relief.

Alexander ran from his room and down the corridors, sliding down the bannister to go stumbling into the ballroom.

Surely, not the most dignified entrance, but it didn't really matter because when he looked up he caught sight of her and the air left his body.

She was back and she was just as beautiful as ever. It seemed in her absence she had grown to be more stunning and yet she remained the exact imitation of his mother.

Her long blonde hair was tangled into a loosening bun with wisps of gold framing her soft jawline and pink cheeks that he tried to ingrain in his mind. Her blue eyes were staring wondrously into his and he knew at that moment that he would never let the light and sparkle leave those eyes. They would always be sparkling and they would always be alive. They would never die on him. They would never die again.

He stepped before her and held out his hand to her. She smiled shyly and let him lead her in a silent dance. There were no words that he felt would need to be said. He had her back and for now, that was enough.

They had been married within a month and he had made her to promise never to leave him again. He had been very unequivocal regarding that. She supposed her three escapes had hurt him more than he let on.

Still, for a month after their marriage she had believed that she had truly found her hearts dream. Her nightingale had sung above her, protecting her from harm. It was all she had hoped for.

Yet she found some of his demands quite odd.

There were days when he entered her room and picked her dresses for the day. There was one, a periwinkle coloured dress that he appeared to favour. She didn't mind the colour herself, but she questioned why he favoured the dress. It was similar to the first he had seen her wear but less casual. It remained highly formal and constricting. She was always uncomfortable wearing his chosen dresses, they were always floor length gowns. She found herself stepping on the delicate fabric everywhere she went and every time she did she noticed that he would wince slightly and frown at her.

Once he had been daring enough to ask her to slide down the bannister of the grand staircase. She had refused, shocked that the otherwise solemn man she had married would be bold enough to ask her to partake in such seeming childish activity. Her refusal was instinctual, and had she given more thought to his question she was almost certain that she would have joined him in sliding down the bannister. As it was though, she didn't and he walked from her looking stunned. Cinderella was left feeling guilty, but for what reason, she did not know.

It was all she had hoped for… and yet every other day she would miss the routine of working. It seemed ridiculous, even to her. But the mundane repetitive tasks she had done under her stepmother, though dreary and unpleasant had given her a small sense of self-satisfaction. She had done the tasks everyday without recognition but they had made her feel useful. Here in the castle, she found her days barely structured with little to do. Her husband had claimed she was not suited to the political affairs of the castle as she had not been educated in the etiquette of the court. As his wife she had complied with his request.

One day though, she had found herself meandering through the castles empty upper floors when she had crossed paths with a maid on her knees cleaning a chimney. Judging by the quantity of soot and debris falling around her, she had only just begun. Within seconds Cinderella had found herself kneeling beside the girl helping.

The maid had panicked jumping from her position and refused Cinderella's help. Every plea Cinderella had made fell upon deaf ears and the maid refused to allow Cinderella to work. She had abided by the maids wishes, however had remained within the room watching her work.

It was degrading and filthy work, but as Cinderella watched the maid work she found herself wishing fervently that she could clean the chimney too. She felt dissatisfied as she watched the maid work. She realised that she felt like one of her own stepsisters.

They used to take turns watching her work. She would be in the maid's position cleaning the chimneys and dusting the multitudes of furniture around the rooms. Her step sister's gaze would follow her around the room almost unnaturally. Cinderella shifted uncomfortably as she watched the maid's scrubbing. It felt odd to be on this side of the room, doing nothing. After all her years of toil, she felt strangely inadequate simply standing by as another was hard at work.

But there was no work that the palace was willing to allow her to do. She was not to take part in the politics of the castle, she was not to aid the servants of the castle, often she was not even allowed to meet foreign dignitaries. Her husband would scowl at her as she asked.

"You're just not the same."

She didn't understand the statement, and it irked her. During the first week alone, he had repeated that sentence over 58 times. It frustrated her no end. After each time he said it he would wrap his arms around her and hold her close, almost like a consolation.

So she had to find herself some form of amusement within the castle. Some task she could attempt.

Her maids had suggestions of strolling in the castle gardens and riding horses to inviting neighbouring princesses for tea. Cinderella had scoffed at the latter suggestion, there was no princess pleased with her marriage to the prince. In their eyes, despite her noble birth, she remained a common maid. She was not a lady of impeccable tastes, habits or talents as some of them were. But she was willing to try and do her best and unlike herself none of them had ever properly worked a day in their life.

The maids did not allow her to work, foreign princesses did not want to meet with her. She was useless.

There was only one suggestion that she finally relented to. One of the maids had suggested she read the books of the castle library.

The castle library was incomparable, filled with tomes and novels containing easily the largest number of books Cinderella had ever, or would ever be likely to see.

It would prove to be a distraction and occupy her days. However, she was unsure which books deserved her attention.

The book that captured her attention was not in the library, she had found it in her husbands room, lying beside her glass slipper. He was on state business for some days and was thus unlikely to miss the book.

She found it to be a swashbuckling tale of danger, love and deception. She understood how it had come to be her husbands favourite. She ensured it was placed exactly where she had first encountered it.

After his return, Cinderella had met him in the ballroom where they had danced together. It had become a habit for them, the equivalent of a ceremonious welcome.

She had laid her head on his chest as they had swayed together in silence.

"I love you." She had finally whispered. She was still often anxious about saying the words to him, unsure of how true they really were for her. Or how true his own feelings were for her.

"I love you." He had replied simply. It appeared as easy as that.

"So easy…" She had sighed, closing her eyes against his chest and listening to the sound of his heartbeat.

"What is?"

"Love. It needn't be as complicated as it was in the tale between the woman with the silver skin, the thief and the one handed count…"

She realised their soft swaying movements had abruptly stopped.

"Her decision needn't have required a deal with the devil, it wouldn't have been necessary. It's a shame the count didn't realise his mistake sooner, he needn't have consulted with the gypsy, but in doing so he let the woman become free to see the thief again. It's a sad tale… Misguided almost."

Cinderella leant back from her prince, looking up at him lovingly.

"Do you not agree?"

His hand made contact with her cheek faster than she could blink.

"You're just not the same." He had whispered, staring at her coldly.

In seconds she was left standing alone in the dark silent ballroom with her cheek flaming in pain and tears threatening to fall. In that moment she knew that no matter what she did she would never belong here.

_I know unfollowed is not a word, but it sounded good in the sentence I put it in. Normally I'm a grammar Nazi, but I thought this could be an exception._

_The masquerade; I assumed that Cinderella would need a better diversion to slip away from the Prince, as it would be exceptionally difficult for Cinderella to escape once – let alone twice, or an unbelievable three times. Hope it _was_ still believable though. _

_The 'thirty-one chapter' story summary by Cinderella was out of the blue. But I actually really like it & am now considering writing a oneshot tale on it. It was just basically a combination of random ideas I had floating in my head in the minute in which I wrote that. _


	4. Challenge Accepted or Hearts Iron Maiden

Chapter 3 – Challenge Accepted/Hearts Iron Maiden

_AU at end._

The third tale that is to be told begins with a wish, a couple's wish for a child. The couple were of good hearts, yet were not fortunate enough to bear children. They were rulers of a prosperous harmonious kingdom, whose citizens had want for nothing. They spent many years talking to charlatans and shamans, magicians and wise women searching for answers and ways to bear children. Finally they came across an old wise woman who told the couple that she could give them their wish, but only if they picked and ate the Rapunzel lettuce from the garden of a witch.

The couple knew of a witch's garden. It was feared of. The witch had forbidden any mortal soul from entering. However, the couple's desire to bear a child was stronger than their fear of the witch. So, one night they stole into the garden, picked some Rapunzel lettuce and together ate it. They believed they could escape the garden without the witch being any wiser to their presence.

However, upon exiting the garden they came across the witch who demanded, as a consequence, that their first born child would be delivered to her, allowing her to raise the child as her own. The couple, aware of their own foolish impulsive actions, reluctantly agreed.

And so it came to pass that nine months later the woman gave birth to twin girls. The first was as radiant as the sunshine, however the second was fragile and sickly.

When the witch came, the couple tried to convince her that the sickly child had been the first born, but the witch knew better and without question took hold of the golden firstborn daughter and departed.

She locked the young girl in a solitary room at the top of a tower far from the land in which she was born.

True to her word the witch cared for the girl as though she were her own daughter and the girl grew to be a fair maiden of beauty and grace. She had a thin face that was somewhat softened with gentle pink rounded cheeks and dark brown eyes. Without question her most defining feature was her long golden hair which, by the girl's seventh birthday, brushed along the floors, tickling her ankles. And it continued to grow. Neither the witch nor the girl wished to cut the beauteous hair.

Eventually the hair became the length of the tower itself and the witch would climb the hair as it hung from a hook to reach the tower room.

Rapunzel neither loved nor hated the witch. She knew that the witch was not her natural mother, despite her attempts at acting like such. However Rapunzel remained loyal to the witch for she was, after all, the only other human contact she had. As such she had a certain level of affection for the old crone. The witch remained her only known mother and the only person to love her for the first twenty years of her life, for the witch did truly love her. Despite Rapunzel's desire to avoid loving the woman, her fondness and loyalty slowly became love.

Unbeknownst to Rapunzel, by her sixteenth year tales of a dazzling damsel in an unclimbable tower had begun to circulate the land. Such tales travelled across seven kingdoms as peasants and noblemen alike would dream of leaving their ordinary lives to find this tower and the princess that allegedly lived within its walls.

However, despite being the wishes and dreams of many, there was no man, knight, squire or peasant who considered braving the dangerous and perilsome journey alone.

And so for a further three years, Rapunzel remained in the tower with no potential rescuers to aid her.

However on the very eve of her twentieth birthday, across nine kingdoms and two bodies of water; a world away from her, a prince heard of her story. That very same night, the Prince decided to ride off in search of the tower and its inhabitant.

Prince Nathaniel had lied to his parents, and indeed the entire court, when he had spoken of his desire to find and rescue the woman from the tower.

His parents had believed he wanted to marry her.

The court believed he wanted to disappear for a while.

They knew nothing.

Prince Nathaniel was just searching for a challenge.

Challenges were his lifeblood. They were what kept him young and youthful. The challenges he accepted were not solely based upon brute strength, but required a cunning and wit of mind. He had passed every challenge he had ever been set, either by himself or others. The people of the kingdom within which he lived, came to believe that there was no challenge that would deter the Prince or, indeed, no challenge he would be unable to accomplish.

Nathaniel had few memories of the beginning of his obsession with challenges; however his uncle had told him that his first challenge had been when he was a young boy of barely five years old. He had accompanied his father with his political aides to their neighbouring kingdom Diom. The Princess of Diom, who was more than three his age, was known to be among the most gifted of storytellers and he would spend hours listening to her tales, revelling in her twisting words.

Then one day she did not tell him a story, but a truth.

She told him that beyond the castle, in the forest that bordered their realm, lived a mare that was half-crazed and mad with hunger for human flesh. The horse, she told him, was larger than any of its kin and its coat was three times as thick, making it uncommonly difficult to vanquish.

The Princess told him that a knight of her father's court had left yesterday to kill the wild beast, however his sword and shield had been found not hours later.

Then, with the practice and pause of a true storyteller, she told Nathaniel that the knight's left arm had been found hanging from a tree. Nathaniel found himself absorbing every piece of information the Princess was able to give him.

He learnt that the mare seemed to only calm once having eaten a morsel of human flesh. Nathaniel enquired how large a morsel was and the Princess considered his question.

Then taking one of his hands between her own she cupped his hand above her right hand and with her left hand, pointed with a delicate porcelain finger at his middle finger.

"That is a morsel."

Nathaniel frowned, his eyes still downcast staring at his hand, the Princess furrowed her brow before pulling her hands back to herself.

Nathaniel enquired about the animal's strengths and weaknesses, its preferred haunts and diet. The Princess answered his questions with initial patience, however after three hours of questioning, retired from his presence.

Nathaniel did not sleep that night instead planning his tomorrow, setting out early the following morning, intent on saving the Princess and people of Diom from the crazed horse.

Quietly, without noise, Prince Nathaniel snuck into Diom's stables where his father's horse was saddled. His father had always proudly proclaimed that the horses muzzles and grits that were made in their kingdom were able to calm even the most unmannered of horses. Nathaniel quietly stole one of the reins and muzzles from his father's horses stable before leaving the castle grounds and heading to the forest.

Within minutes of entering the forest, Prince Nathaniel was utterly lost in the depths of the forest with no notion of escape.

All thoughts of escape fled his mind when he heard the distant clattering of hooves that seemed to be coming closer to him. Clambering up a tree, Nathaniel shrouded himself amongst the foliage of the leaves and waited.

Finally, the crazed mare entered his field of vision and, whether by pure luck or a goddess's wish, halted abruptly under the tree he was sitting on.

Prince Nathaniel did not hesitate to consider his luck and jumped from the tree upon the mare. Instantly the mare began to buck wildly, doing everything in its power to dislodge him, however Nathaniel held onto the mare with determination.

Recalling the Princess' words, Nathaniel closed his eyes tight and clenched his hand into a fist, before elongating his middle finger. Then without pause for reconsideration, Nathaniel thrust his hand before the mare's mouth and instantly his hand was met with a searing pain.

Instantly, the mare stopped trying to buck Nathaniel from its back and stood stock still. Pulling his hand towards his chest, Nathaniel let no sound escape his mouth and instead firmly muzzled and reined the mare with his uninjured hand.

Able to sit firmly upon the stead's back, Nathaniel tore a piece of his clothing into strips and bandaged his now four-fingered hand, albeit with little skill.

Taking the reins of the mare tentatively, Nathaniel urged him into a gallop through the forest in search for the castle.

He found the mare to be nimble, able to dodge around trees with even the closest proximity. He had not been on many horses in his short life, however he was certain that this horse was uncharacteristically fast.

It took him longer to find the castle again than it did to tame the crazed mare.

Upon returning to the castle, he interrupted a search party being formed. The courtiers began to crowd around Nathaniel and the mare, until the mare snorted loudly. The courtiers scattered, tripping over each other in their attempts to escape proximity with the mare. One of the knights in the crowd pulled out his sword in an ill-disguised attempt to slay the mare.

"Do not harm him, he's mine. Any man who harms him will die."

Despite his young age, the Prince's statement was met with bows and solemn expressions.

He pulled himself off the mare and unbandaged his hand, holding out the blood-soaked bandage to the mare, who instantly plucked it from his hand and could be heard sucking the blood.

Almost unanimously all the courtiers shuddered and one lady fainted.

Upon hearing of the morning's events, the King of Diom instantly promised his daughter's hand in marriage to Prince Nathaniel when he grew of age. Despite the repeated urgings of his father that there was no more beauteous woman he could possibly find as a wife, Nathaniel turned down the offer.

That was the day that sparked the beginning of Prince Nathaniel's lust for challenges and his companionship with his mare, whom he named Dein.

Over the years that followed Prince Nathaniel accepted and completed all manner of challenges presented to him. From even the smallest suggestion to the grandest formal challenge, nothing escaped his eyes.

He had saved an exiled princess and restored her kingdom to her, fighting off the barbarian war lord and his army that had overtaken her lands. That had taken him two months. The Princess had offered herself to Nathaniel who, once again refused.

He had been formally challenged by a demonic priest to weigh himself against a feather to test whether his soul was pure enough to avoid death. Nathaniel had replaced the bird's feather with a large golden feather made overnight by a blacksmith. When he had weighed himself against the feather the following morning, he had proven himself lighter and the demonic priest that had challenged him was forced to return to the underworld.

Nathaniel had crossed the legendary stream of fire, throwing rocks in until they formed a precarious but crossable bridge. He had reached the other side of the stream and had survived the attacks of the three deadly harpies long enough to pick a golden pomegranate that would save Dien from the wound he had received when he had been ambushed at an inn.

He had saved a child bride from a cursed pearl necklace that would suck the vitality of its owner until they withered away to less than a living skeletal figure. The Prince had had to ride Dien faster than the pair had ever ridden before in an effort to throw the necklace into a volcano to stop it from draining away the life of the child. Upon his return, Prince Nathaniel had learned that the cursed necklace had been given to her as a gift by her purportedly loving husband. Their subsequent divorce lead to the girl's father offering the child as a bride to Nathaniel. Despite their having become good friends, Nathaniel, once again declined the offer of marriage.

His most recent challenge had been a face off against a vampyre hiding in a deep basement that was contained within a haunted city, where demons and monsters roamed throughout the day and night. He had been sent to collect an ancient golden girdle for an Amazonian warrior Queen. The timing of collecting the girdle was difficult, as he had to hide himself from the monsters that would kill him without a moment's notice. It had taken him a while perfecting his skills of deception to the lengths that would be necessary to preserve his life in the city, however he was finally able to sneak into the walls of the city and sneak out without detection with the golden girdle. He had returned the artefact to the Amazonian Queen and returned to his parent's castle.

The peace he had craved upon his return had been short-lived.

His parents, and especially his mother, had begun to pester him; about marriage.

His mother would spend every waking second beside her son, shooting off questions.

"What did you think of the Lady Annabelle? Wasn't she pretty?"

"What about Duchess Yana? She could go riding and hunting with you. Wouldn't you rather like that?"

"You should write to the Princess of Diom that you helped save. Madame Rosa told me that she still isn't married yet. Maybe you could…"

"Are you looking for a wife that can sew or would you prefer a wife who can ride horseback?"

"Are you searching for a woman to converse with, or simply a pretty face?"

"Do you want a wife at all?"

"You must marry a wife, if you are discreet you could, in fact, keep a lover. Male or female." Nathaniel had shirked at the very idea.

"Darling, you could marry for display. There is no need to really love the woman."

Finally Nathaniel could take her continuous comments no longer.

It had been his good fortune that the story of a damsel at the top of an unclimbable tower began to circulate the castle just as he was wishing to leave.

He had announced his departure to the court and his parents that same day.

Saddling Dien and preparing his travel belongings, Prince Nathaniel sought the local tavern, the source of constant whispers and, more often than not, capable of providing answers and possibilities that would otherwise not be considered.

Traversing the tavern searching for information, Prince Nathaniel had come across a range of people and creatures. Finally, after buying numerous drinks for men with no information, Nathaniel had come across a man he had been able to confer with. He had, however, been told that the only information he would be able to garner would be regarding the distance he had yet to travel.

The man claimed that the woman in the tower was to be found seven kingdoms away.

The only directions he gave were to follow the Zephyrus wind.

Nathaniel questioned him further, hoping to gain more insight into the mysteries tower, however it appeared the man's ability to hold a drink relied solely upon his interest in the conversation. Suffice to say, Prince Nathaniel left soon after the man began singing tunes with the cleavage baring barmaid.

He began his journey across seven Westward kingdoms.

Perilous and fraught with many untold dangers it may have been, but that had never proved a deterrent to Prince Nathaniel before and was unlikely to act as one now.

With each country he crossed he sought more information regarding the woman in the tower.

He had learnt no new information until the fifth country he navigated whereupon he learnt that the woman within the tower was being held there by a witch. As he ventured further into the country he learnt that the witch had originated from the mountains that were, by now, visible to him. He learnt that she had left her mountainous cave and kidnapped this woman from her parents as a child before locking her away in the tower. She had never let the girl have contact with any other person so it became clear to Nathaniel that he would have to avoid detection in order to safely rescue the woman.

As he passed across the border into the sixth country, Prince Nathaniel began to hear more rumours and whispers about the tower. It was said that from the top of the tower a person could hold out their hand and touch the clouds or cup their hand and drink from the raindrops that pooled there. The tower was thought to be unclimbable, with no footholds or grooves to allow a man to climb it. Nobody Nathaniel spoke to seemed to know precisely what the tower was made of either. He heard tales of a shimmering glass tower, smooth to the touch, like ice. He had been told that the tower was made of crystal, diamonds, marble, stone, granite… with each new story, came a new material. It was becoming evident that nobody really knew anything about the tower, other than the fact that there was a single room at its uppermost point where the woman was being held. Nathaniel became certain that the sole way to climb the tower was surely known by the witch, and therefore he would have to wait, hidden, to see how the witch climbed the tower.

Upon reaching the seventh country, Nathaniel found himself less interested in many of the rumours of the tower. The rumours of this nation were solely focused upon the woman at the top of the tower. Men whispered of her golden hair that was thought to be as long as the tower itself. Women enviously muttered of her kindness and grace. Everyone in the land agreed that her hair was long, fair and golden and that her eyes were a bright sparkling green. However, for all the rumours surrounding her appearance, Nathaniel found he wasn't interested in what they had to say, even if they were all in agreement.

Finally he reached the border of the 'tower nation' and pushed Dien into a last burst of speed. Together, the pair were able to race towards the tower, which rose high against the mountains and forests of the nation, like some pin that had been stabbed into the Earth's pincushion.

Standing at the base of the tower, Nathaniel raised his head to judge the height.

Nowhere near the clouds.

He reached out to touch the tower. Definitely not glass, crystal, diamonds or marble or granite or any other material he recognised. Nathaniel's eyes trawled across the surface of the tower, searching for footholds or uneven surfaces with which to climb, however he found none, the tower was completely smooth to the touch. Which raised the question of how to climb the seemingly unclimbable tower?

He would have to sit and wait for the witch. There had to be a way to reach the top of the tower, if he stayed and waited, eventually the witch would come – she had to.

And so he waited, hiding himself amongst the trees and ferns, (distancing himself from the collection of brambles and thorns) close and yet far enough from the tower to avoid detection.

He tried to study the tower as he waited, he squinted his eyes against the sun in an effort to make out the figure in the tower, to no avail. He spent hours pulling at the grass around his seated form, just as a way to pass the time. He sat beside Dien and talked to him, gently scratching his ears and brushing his coat.

It took twenty four hours before Nathaniel finally saw a figure walk over to the tower. Crouching low behind the foliage around him and patting Dien's nose to keep him silent, Nathaniel strained his senses; watching the figure huddle beside the tower and knock their knuckles against it three times before his ears were able to hear the hoarse whisper from the figure.

_Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair. Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair. Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair._

He watched in awed silence as a sudden burst of light seemed to burst from the tower. A second later he chided himself for his ridiculous thinking, it was not light but golden hair that was streaming from the tower to fall towards the earth, it's length precisely measuring the length of the tower. Nathaniel watched stunned as the figure on the ground curled first one hand into the hair before lifting themselves off the ground and beginning to climb the hair as one would a rope. Nathaniel's eyes followed the agonisingly long climb of the figure, until finally they hauled themselves into the blackness at the top of the tower and the golden tresses were dragged upward back into the darkness.

He remained crouching in silence, his eyes hooked on the tower and the small sliver of darkness of the window where the gold had vanished. His knees and thighs began to burn and ache, his eyes were beginning to drift from the tower. Without realising it he found himself leaning against a tree and the last thing he remembered seeing was the outline of the tower, high above him, blocking his view of the stars that he was sure were sparkling in the sky.

Nathaniel awoke to a pounding head and the gentle nudging of Dien pushing against his back with his nose. Nathaniel rubbed his eyes and stretched his legs, wincing as his calves screamed in agony. Swallowing heavily before reaching over for his waterskin, Nathaniel looked towards the tower and started when he saw a figure climbing back down the tower on the rope-like golden hair.

He waited until the figure disappeared amongst the underbrush before he moved from his hiding spot and strode to the base of the tower and, imitating the rasping voice of the witch repeated the words thrice over.

_Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair. Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair. Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair._

Once more, the golden tresses spilled forth from the tower, landing to brush his boots. Threading his fingers into the weaves of hair, Nathaniel began to climb.

It was strength-sapping, made no easier by his four-fingered hand, he paused a moment to wonder how the witch was able to climb the hair at such a speed.

Finally however, he reached the window and hauled himself in, letting his feet hit the stone floor as his eyes rose to face the figure standing in shock before him.

Looking at her with a critical eye, Nathaniel saw the stories surrounding her beauty were not exaggerated, she was incredibly gorgeous. His eyes moved from her golden hairline, along her sharp cheekbones and down her jawline to land staring on her glistening pale pink lips. His eyes rose, seeing her dark green eyes were wide and watery as she stared at him with fear. His eyes trailed down her body, noting her flat chest and thin legs before being drawn to her hair, trailing down her back and lying on the floor between them.

Critically, Nathaniel supposed that she was beautiful, honestly though, he did not find himself attracted to the girl.

He held his hands up calmly, looking her steadily in the eye, as he would for wild beasts.

Judging by her still open mouth, Nathaniel assumed that she was unlikely to speak first. It was down to him. Nathaniel smirked slightly, remembering a similar moment in a tavern when he had been forced to make conversation among rival clans of knights. He had succeeded then, and he was determined to succeed with this girl before him.

"Don't be frightened, I swear I won't hurt you. My name is Nathaniel and… I was going to help you get out of this tower."

She gave what he thought was a greatly exaggerated sigh, before finally smiling. Her words came tumbling out in a heavily accented voice.

"I know you won't hurt me. I can see your aura." Nathaniel found his own mouth unconsciously drop,

"It's blue." She explained at his baffled look.

"Uh… huh."

That seemed to be the only sound he found himself able to make. They fell into silence.

"You've travelled a long way." She finally spoke, her hands falling into her hair and threading themselves through it.

Nathaniel nodded, still unsure about how to address the girl.

It was a challenge. She was a challenge.

"I travelled across seven kingdoms to reach you, to save you." He spoke with a romantic lilt to his voice. Her smile grew, as did his confidence.

"Can I ask you your name?"

"You said it before you climbed the tower. It's Rapunzel." Nathaniel frowned at her teasing before continuing.

"Well Rapunzel, I am here to get you out of this tower." At this pronouncement she simply laughed.

"I don't want to _leave_ this tower." She said condescendingly. He glared at her, hating her patronising tone and the hint of sarcasm she used. She finally let go of her hair and gestured grandly around the small circular room they were currently standing in.

"Everything I want is here. There is nothing that I need that lies outside of that window." She seemed to laugh at the very suggestion and Nathaniel found himself calculating how to make her leave the tower.

Her desire to stay was clearly the main drawback, which meant that he had to find a reason for her to leave. His mind began flicking through things she might want but not have. Food, clothes, gold, as he looked around the circular room he saw these in abundance, stacked in haphazard piles. The sole thing she didn't have was company. Nathaniel instantly saw the possibility for manipulation.

Having made this connection, within a second Nathaniel had strode across the brief space between them and had pressed his lips flush against hers, bringing his hand up against the back of her neck pulling her towards him.

She gasped at the ferocity of the kiss and it was a few moments before he could feel her begin to reciprocate.

He felt her hands trail up along his arms and shoulders awkwardly before settling on his neck and head in the lightest of touches.

Nathaniel felt himself grow more heated and as the kiss began to deepen on both sides, he slowly began to back her towards the bed.

He stood looking at the tower the following day, watching as the witch repeated the words and the golden hair was thrown out.

He patted Dien with his four-fingered hand, waiting for the witch to be gone.

The golden spray of tresses poured out of the window after a few hours, allowing the witch to climb back down out of the tower before scurrying away. Nathaniel felt a brief curiosity to know where she disappeared to, but disregarded it in favour of returning to the challenge that Rapunzel presented him with.

He climbed the tower again and saw Rapunzel looking at him with those same bright green eyes, that instead of being filled with fear, were filled with trust. Misplaced trust, Nathaniel thought darkly.

As soon as both his feet were within the tower, Rapunzel had collided into his chest, wrapping her arms around him. Hesitantly, Nathaniel wrapped his arms around her.

"Come with me." He whispered throatily. "I will take you home with me." She paused the longest time before giving the slightest shake of her head. Nathaniel sighed softly before pulling her tighter against him.

For the third time, he climbed the tower. He had no need to hide from the witch this time, as Rapunzel had said that she would not be coming.

Reciting the words and climbing the tower, Nathaniel had lowered himself through the window again to see Rapunzel sitting crouched on the bed, tear trails staining her face.

Suddenly unsure of what he was supposed to do, Nathaniel swallowed, his eyes darting around the room, noting that the wardrobe was ajar and clothing was piled high around the floor.

Rapunzel lifted her head slowly to look at him.

Nathaniel was confused to see that through the tears she was smiling. Tentatively he walked over to sit beside her and let her lean onto him.

Again, with quiet trepidation, he could not help but say,

"Come with me."

Tears burst afresh on her face as she turned and buried her face into his chest. He frowned but waited for her to respond.

Eventually she did and in a soft barely audible whisper she spoke,

"I will."

Nathaniel smirked; challenge, what challenge? Three days. That was all the time it had taken him to get her out of the tower. Three days was nothing in comparison to the year he had spent trying to find the Amazonian girdle. Three days was the time it took the castle blacksmith to forge a battleaxe inlaid with gold. It took three days to travel between his own home and the castle Diom. Three days was nothing. Now the once entrapped Rapunzel would be free of her tower and able to travel to whichever kingdom she wished, marry who she wished, lead a life that she chooses to. Just as he himself wanted to.

"YOU FILTHY LITTLE WHORE!"

The high pitched rasping scream shattered the silence. Nathaniel would've sprung from his seat, had he not had Rapunzel leaning heavily on him, effectually roping him to the bed. Nathaniel shifted beneath her, twisting to lay his eyes upon a woman standing at the window. He did not recognise her, but he had no doubt that this was the witch that had entrapped Rapunzel.

The cliché images of witches that Nathaniel had known defied this woman's appearance. She was not of a beautiful other-worldly appearance, nor was she disparagingly ugly or repulsive. She appeared ordinary. Another face that would be unnoticeable in a crowd of people, unmemorable. She had a light olive skin tone with long dark red hair a circular face and piercing dark green eyes. She looked extremely similar to a tavern wench he knew in his kingdom. Ordinary.

Alas were she not ordinary there would be no sudden darkening of clouds or the flash of lightning that illuminated the tower room. Nathaniel could see the sheer power radiating off her skin, making her glow and causing her hair to crackle and move independently. If it were not for these sudden changes that developed, he would not have spared her a second thought.

As it was though, she appeared angry and judging by her display of power Nathaniel believed he was right to feel a certain degree of fear in her presence. Fear was something he had not felt for a long time now.

It was exhilarating. He hadn't felt this alive and enthused for two winters at best. A woman of true power stood before him, threatening him, and Nathaniel could feel his heart begin to speed.

Here was a real challenge.

Forget gaining the trust of a naïve and innocent young girl at the topmost turret. This woman before him sizzling with the power to threaten him and, by the looks of her glare, castrate and dismember him, was a real challenge. Manipulation alone would not suffice, unlike Rapunzel. He needed to employ other skills to calm her and make her trust him.

He pushed Rapunzel off himself and stood from the bed, intending to face the woman and calm her. But the second he stood she had darted faster than the wind to stand before him. Nathaniel jerked his head away from her sudden presence, as fear began to pump his heart faster. It was terrifying, electrifying.

She bared her teeth, glaring at him. Nathaniel's frown was twitching to form a smirk as she spoke. Despite its harsh words and snarling menace, Nathaniel still found her voice soothing. Her anger was clear, as was her passion. She had earned his respect within mere minutes of being in his presence, she was like nobody he had ever met before.

"My Prince," She said mockingly, lowering herself into a half-curtsey as she smirked.

"To what honour, do Rapunzel and I owe to this entirely unexpected arrival?"

Nathaniel licked his lips as he watched her teasing, darting eyes. His mind was warning him to be wary and cautious with his words, but his fast pumping heart paid no heed to his mind and thought only of giving way to the witch's smirk.

"I came with the intention of rescuing Rapunzel from the tower and sparing her from your cruel heartedness."

As the words left his mouth his heart seemed to stop for a brief second as he doubted the cleverness of his tongue. Far from rising in wrath however, the witch let out a huff of amusement and Nathaniel was sure he saw the teasing glint in her eyes deepen.

"Rescuing her? Does she want to be rescued? Tell me dear," She whispered, leaning towards Rapunzel and stroking her cheek softly, "do you wish to leave this tower with this young man, this young Prince? Do you really want to leave the only home you've ever known? The only friend – family - you've ever known?"

Tears fell down Rapunzel's cheeks as she nodded her head. The witch raised her head, rolling it towards Nathaniel.

"My apologies Prince, she may _want_ to leave but I will not _allow_ her to leave." Staring him down she narrowed her eyes and Nathaniel saw her smile provocatively.

"I will always find her. She will always be mine."

Nathaniel felt his heart suddenly soar, as though suddenly possessed with wings. He knew that tone of voice, he could pinpoint it in the dark, without any teasing eyes or smirking lips to accompany it. His smirk deepened.

"Challenge accepted."

Nathaniel saw her eyes glisten for a second before she slunk up to stand before him and with a whispered, "let it begin," she had pushed him from the tower window.

He could see the tower window getting smaller as he fell and could feel the air rushing past him in whispering whistles. His own peril flashed in his mind as he waited for his body to fall onto the ground and his bones to shatter upon the hardened earth below. But the pain he expected never came.

When he hit the ground, it was not with the force he expected. He may have broken a number of bones, but surely death would be the natural occurrence from any fall such as the one he had just experienced. His sole explanation for his survival was the witch.

Lying at the base of the tower he was able to see the witch's head staring down at him, the wind blowing her hair around her head like fire. She saluted him and despite the pain in his body he stood up. He watched as she held her hand out, barely visible at the height she was at, before disappearing into the tower.

Nathaniel smirked as the tower began to crumble. Whatever material it had been made out of, it cracked like glass and crumbled like stone, giving way to pieces that landed on the grass just as he and the book had done. He was not worried, the witch had moved Rapunzel already, he had seen it in her salute. It had signalled the beginning of the challenge. The game was afoot.

It took him five months to find her. She was wandering barefoot in the desert with cracked lips, darkened skin and ragged hair. Someone – maybe she herself – looked to have cut her hair with a blunted knife, not bothering to keep her hair on a straight even level. The golden tresses he had seen strewn from the tower had dulled. Everything about her had changed, everything but her eyes, they remained as wide and innocent as ever, even despite having been wandering the desert for five months.

Upon seeing him her eyes lit up and she ran towards him as he vaulted from Dien, slamming into his chest and wrapping her arms tightly around him. Nathaniel easily let his arms encase her as she buried her face into his chest sobbing incomprehensibly. His eyes were scanning around the sparse expanse of sand as his skin burned in anticipation. She would come, he knew she would come. Perhaps she was already here.

And then, over the top of a sand dune, he saw her hair, still flaming red and coming closer.

"Run!" He yelled, pulling Rapunzel blindly behind him, unconcerned with whether she was able to keep up. His only concern at that moment was with playing the game they had set. Rapunzel was the centre piece, the red king on a chessboard they were both fighting for control over. She was the territory they were fighting to control, regardless of whether she wanted to play the game or not, she was the prize.

They would continue to fight over her, because she was the key that brought them together.

It had taken her an embarrassingly long time to understand what was going on, what they were doing to her. It had taken her years to understand that she was a pawn in their game, to understand that that was all she had ever really been. She had never been more than a pawn, she meant nothing to either of them.

That wasn't quite true, she mused. She did have meaning to them, but she meant nothing more than a complex puzzle that both of them enjoyed far too much to ever truly finish.

She had never truly been a puzzle though, the witch had seen to that. She had always been obedient and had never allowed evil thoughts to trawl her mind, because somehow her mother – the witch, she corrected herself – had always known. Her thoughts had never gone beyond the tower, they had remained entrapped within the room, focused on her clothes and her hair. Looking back on it now, it seemed shamefully limited and childish.

It had been Nathaniel that had allowed her mind to travel beyond her tower room, or more accurately, he had brought the world into her tower.

He had come into her tower and her life had completely changed.

There were some days she wished he had never come, that she thought she would have preferred to have stayed forever ignorant, stuck in her tower.

But then she looked at him, at his smile and his aura; that was still blue no matter what he did to her. It didn't matter where he left her or for how long he ignored her or even the way he looked at the witch, he had stolen her heart and she would always see the goodness in his heart. Even if a part of her was screaming at her stupidity, it didn't matter, because unrequited love was stupid.

Rapunzel sighed, she was stupid.

She had tried to flee the desert with her Prince, trying to keep up with his long strides as his hand had pulled her stumbling along. But she hadn't been able to keep up with him, her months of walking through the deserts had left her frail and weak. She had tumbled to the ground causing him to swear, but beneath his anger she could've sworn she had heard him chuckle softly.

Glancing behind them, Rapunzel could see the witch had started running towards them. Her prince had whistled and his horse had come running. He had hauled her onto the horse behind him and kicked the horse into movement.

Rapunzel had wrapped her arms around him again, glancing back at the witch whose smile remained evident despite the growing distance between them. She could see the witch lifting her arms and had known her long enough to know when she was performing a spell.

The few sand particles that were being blown against her face suddenly, magically, increased in number so the sand was buffeting against her face, making it virtually impossible to see. Despite the lack of visibility, they had continued.

She had been safe for a year, living with her Prince and his family. They had been married a month after their arrival. It had been the happiest day of Rapunzel's life, they had been married under the sunlight in a wide open field surrounded by his family and the court. She had believed that was the day that would serve as the starting point of her happiness.

Her naivety had died quickly.

Her new husband had avoided and ignored her… until she had been kidnapped by the witch again. It was only when she was in the witch's presence that she commanded his full attention.

She had withstood six years of constantly being kidnapped and entrapped, teased and rescued, and she allowed herself to be ferried between the two in their own games, simply because she loved them both.

They had created a personalised torture chamber for her and she had willingly stepped into the iron maiden that was digging into her heart as they carted her body between their two hearts.

For the first twenty years of her life she had remained in the same place, stuck inside the tower room. It had been the constant in her life.

The only constant in her life having escaped the tower were the two certainties that she would forever love her Prince and that, for the rest of her life, she would be stuck playing their game, whether she liked it or not.

.

.

_So really there is no excuse for the slow update, but I will provide you with five words that are my defense: newfound Game of Thrones obsession. So really there is nothing for me to say other than I hope the next update won't be quite so long, I'm getting back into the habit of writing at every chance rather than feeding my Game of Thrones obsession, so here's hoping…_

_That, and this story was a pain to work out. I had to rewrite it three times over. As it is I'm still not sure I'm really satisfied with it, but given I've been stuck on this for weeks now I figured it wasn't going anywhere and in the hope of moving on from this and providing you with more chapters I decided to post this despite my reservations. So… Here. We. Go._

_I had been sure that perilsome was a word. But, for all intents and purposes I choose not to see said red coloured line, as 'perilsome' fits within the sentence that I put it in. In the future chapters, I'll let you figure out which word is the 'apparently-grammatically-incorrect-but-sounds-like-a-real-word", since this seems to be becoming a thing with my writing._

_Really, can you believe unbandaged isn't a word either? I was so sure… :S_


	5. Handsome Madness or Beautiful Death

Chapter 5 – Snow White – Handsome Madness/Beautiful Death

_AN: So a word of warning for this one; the influencing ideas on this is dark. It may not be made obvious in the writing, or it may be, depends. But I am just letting you know that I wrote it with a certain idea in mind that is definitely out of my comfort zone. There are also horrible themes within this and – to reiterate – this is dark._

The fifth tale we have to tell is that of a young woman who garnered the title 'the fairest of them all'. With lips of blood and hair of raven black and skin as white as snow and smooth as satin, she was indeed possessed of an almost unnatural beauty. Her stepmother, jealous of the child's beauty even at the young age of seven, ordered her death. The executioner though, being pure of heart, let the child run free. Fleeing the danger, she ran to the forest, far from where she believed the prying eyes of her former mother could see her.

The child spent years in the forest, surviving on wild berries and edible plants. Hiding in caves and amongst tree branches to evade her stepmother's jealousy was not enough though, for jealousy and anger are powerfully evocative and the stepmother's jealousy would not end until the child's body was brought before her. The heart that the hunter had tried to deceive the queen with had not been enough and as punishment his own heart was taken. But the child knew nothing of the hunters sacrifice.

She found solace in a cottage run by seven dwarves. The dwarves had conceded to her desperation and need, allowing her to live in their cottage with them. They had fallen in love with her beauty, her rose lips and ebony hair and delicate fingers. Her beauty coerced them and caused them to promise her the world whilst serving her in their small homespun cottage. Despite their warm hospitality, she faced danger and doubt.

One year with the dwarves her stepmother attempted to put her in a comatose state. The dwarves had proven themselves her saviours, disposing the treacherously decorated comb, gently smoothing her hair and holding her in their arms, trying to calm her.

Another year her stepmother attempted to suffocate her, she was unsuccessful because of the dwarves and their dedication and love to her. They had untied all the miles of ribbon from the tightly laced corset, before gently bringing her to rest in their beds.

In her last year with the dwarves her stepmother poisoned her, having disguised herself as an old crone and gifting her with a poisoned apple. The dwarves were not there in time to save her for a third time. They found her fallen on the kitchen floor, one of her arms lying out to her side with her fingers curled into a gentle fist as the other rested against her motionless chest. Her head had rolled to one side, showing only half of her face. Even though only half her face was visible the dwarves remained spellbound by her beauty, and even in death she remained the most beautiful woman any of them had ever seen. Her lips remained as vibrantly red as ever before, and as the dwarves looked upon her beauty they declared that no sheer of death would ever overcome her beauty.

And so the dwarves made a silent unanimous decision. In honour of her beauty they began work on her coffin. But instead of burying her and laying her in a wooden casket, the dwarves fashioned a coffin of glass and gold, allowing the sunlight to continue to bathe her skin in white light and their eyes to linger on her. They shaped and moulded the nature around her resting place, trimming the trees and forming a perfect clearing, bordered by flowers of red and white.

They kept eternal vigil at her side, remaining by the coffin without food or sleep for they could not bear to leave her alone; and so there they remained there until the hour of their death. Their flesh soon gave rise to their skeletons, as they remained at her side still, kneeling beside her coffin in her honour.

The sight of a glass coffin surrounded by seven kneeling dwarf skeletons would be undeniably intriguing and for any unfortunate who entered the clearing and set their eyes on the figure housed within, their curiosity would be satisfied unto their death.

The first man to come upon the sight, walked into the clearing with trepidation, sword held high, prepared to strike. His steel fell to the earth as the man's eyes fell upon the maiden within the casket.

He believed her to be unearthly. He refused to believe that she was of the same world as he. He did not believe her to have been born a babe, carried in a womb just as he had been. No creature of such beauty could be born from the same blood, sweat and pain as he and others. She took the form of an angel, and indeed the flower petals littered beneath her seemed shaped to resemble wings.

The knight thus removed his armour without removing his eyes from her form, throwing it beyond the clearing, believing the tainted steel to be disrespectful of the woman's beauty. He returned to stand beside the coffin, careful to avoid the dwarf skeleton bones lying scattered over the clearing.

And he stood at the coffin's side, his eyes on the maiden in the coffin, never moving from her figure.

And there he too died, standing beside her coffin, gazing upon her beauty.

Not long after his death a pair of thieves passed the clearing of flowers and bones. As one carefully examined and gloated over finding the knight's armour the second entered the clearing as the knight had done before him. His gaze travelled over the litter of dwarf bones before seeing the collapsed body of the once 'live knight, still at the coffin's side. His skin having taken on a greyish hue and his eyes and mouth already served to feast and house insects, devouring his sinew and flesh.

The thief let his gaze waver upon the knight's body as the forest around him seemed to hiss, whistle and breeze caution in the movement of every flower and the odour of dying flesh that hung around the clearing. About to call caution to his companion, the thief's gaze landed upon the coffin and the warning faded from his lips. Just like the knight before him, he was instantly captivated by the beauty encased within the glass. All other thoughts evaporated from his mind as his eyes landed upon the coffin.

The thief didn't seem to hear his partner calling to him from beyond the clearing, whom – unlike himself – had heeded the faint unnatural warnings of the clearing and remained outside of its boundary calling. His initial teasing became irritation before leading to worry and fear. Despite the pounding worry causing him to shift his weight from one foot to the other, he never shifted his weight or limbs forward, his loyalty to his partner remained only as deep as his pockets.

His eyes regarded the clearing critically, taking in the collection of bones, the still recognisable body of the knight as well as his own frozen partner. All the skeletons and bodies and still living eyes surrounded the coffin, they seemed to circle the coffin in a sacrificial ring. Letting his eyes waver on the scene, the thief recognised the danger and wanting no part of it, gathered what he could of the dead knight's armour and slipped away from the clearing to never return.

And so another skeleton joined those in adulation of the beauty within the glass coffin.

Several lone travellers and knights, feeding their curiosity, would venture into the clearing, removing all their valuables before entering the ring of skeletal bones.

Tales of the clearing and its disappearances began to spread amongst thieves who grew to recognise that despite the treasure being amassed at the entrance to the clearing, it was neither wise nor respectful to steal from the ever-growing trove. The tales suggested that those who gave in to their desires and stole from the valuables left outside the clearing would be filled with a growing sense of greed and invulnerability until they fell in to the temptation, entering the clearing only to never come out again.

And so the treasure pile outside the clearing grew, the last visible sign of those lost to the beauty of the maiden. It acted as a warning. But its success in deterring stray and passing strangers from entering the clearing was non-existent.

And so it came to be that one day seven knights rode past the clearing. None had been forewarned of the tales and as such their reaction to the valuables stacked beyond the clearing appeared perfectly natural. They congratulated each other on their spectacularly lucky find. As three of them began to load the treasure onto their horses the other four looked into the clearing with the hope of finding further treasure to satisfy their sudden onslaught of greed.

Two began to circle the clearing and one bent to examine the gleaming bones on the ground and the last strode up to the casket, foolishly fearless.

His sudden exhalation drew the attention of the other four. The two who had been circling the clearing drew closer, whilst the other remained kneeling on the bone-scattered floor cautiously curious.

"What is it?"

The kneeling knight rose from the ground slowly, narrowing his eyes at his companions who had all fallen silent and did not respond to his question. He did not move from his position, however he let his eyes speed around his fellow knights and he noticed all their movement had ceased.

Once having laid eyes upon the coffin, their feet stopped shuffling, their hands fell to their sides and their fingers stiffened. But, more worryingly for the knight, their eyes never left the coffin. They neither blinked nor moved their eyes from the glass, and the kneeling knight could see the coffin reflected in his companion's eyes.

He became instantly wary, having dealt with magical threats before, unlike his companions.

"What is it?" And still his companions did not answer. The kneeling knight's sense of unease grew.

Closing his eyes and holding his hand before him, he reached for his friends. His hand made contact with a small clank of metal upon metal, his fingers wrapped around the hand he had caught and readying his feet, the knight pulled hard.

The paralysed knight toppled over and before he could regain his balance, the knelling knight began to pull him from the clearing, opening his eyes once his head was turned from the coffin. It took all of his strength to pull the resistant knight from the clearing. Once he had, he had to explain to his three other travelling companions why he was forcibly pulling their friend from the clearing.

Their companion was straining to return to the clearing, no doubt to return to staring at the glass covered coffin and whatever was inside.

"We need to leave now."

The three knights who had not entered the clearing began questioning where their fellow travellers were. The kneeling knight shook his head and the one word he whispered was enough to convince the trio of knights to step forward and help him tie their maddened friend to his saddle, blindfolding him in the hopes that his madness would fade if he could not return to the clearing.

They rode hard and fast on their return to their King and castle, riding through sun and moonlight to reach their destination. And as they did the kneeling knight spoke of his uncertainty and fear of the clearing.

On the eve of the twelfth night, they rode through the oft used castle gates, slowing their horses to a trot as they rode into the inner courtyard of the castle.

They were led to a grand dinner in celebration of their return, hosted by the King. As they entered the King stood from his throne, opening his arms as though to embrace them despite the distance between them.

The four sane knights lead their still blindfolded, inebriated partner into the hall. Roaring raucous laughter followed them as those seated in the hall saw the blindfolded knight stumbling between his fellows. None of the escorting knights laughed along or even smiled. There was a distinct air of sobriety surrounding the small group that slowly spread throughout the hall as the quintet moved, silence descending heavily upon the previous air of gaiety.

The King took note of the structured group of knights and standing the better to see them, his words echoed throughout the hall,

"What happened? Where are the other two of your company?"

The kneeling knight stepped forward and began to tell their tale, of their approach to the clearing and his misgivings and their struggle to bring their blindfolded companion home with them.

The end of his story was enveloped in silence as the people in the hall seemed to process the story, no doubt savouring its novelty.

"What was it that was in the clearing? What did you find?"

"We did not see it sire, if we had we would not be standing here to speak with you. All who lay eyes upon the coffin appear transfixed by it, they cannot look away sire, they cannot leave the clearing."

The King gestured to the blindfolded knight.

"Did he see the object within the coffin?"

The kneeling knight lowered his head,

"We believe so, sire. He has been struggling valiantly since being pulled from the clearing." He lowered his voice, "We believe he has lost his mind since seeing the coffin sire." The King lifted two fingers, signalling the blindfold be lifted.

Casting glances at each other, the three knights gingerly readied themselves as the kneeling knight lifted the blindfold off their companion. Instantly the man jumped forward, however upon realising he was no longer in the clearing the knight stood down, yet continued to shift his balance and twitch.

"Knight, what was in the coffin you laid eyes on?"

The knight's eyes darted in their sockets, searching the hall for something that none could guess. Finally he spoke, and though the hall was large and his voice soft, every man in the hall could hear what the knight spoke.

"Once looked upon, ones eyes cannot leave the form." His voice became sharper,

"For what is black and white and red, but death, innocence and love?" The King's eyes had narrowed and his eyebrows had tightened.

"What is in the coffin knight?"

"Betrayal, purity and blood. If you see the face, you will regret it for the rest of your life."

They could not coax a definitive answer from the knight whose words were induced with madness. However the riddled words of the knight served to intrigue the King further. And yet, rather than send more knights and risk them to the madness that the blindfolded knight was subjected to, the King decided to visit upon the clearing on his own and lay his eyes upon the coffin himself.

His courtiers, knights and council begged him not to partake in the foolish and dangerous journey. For whom would take the crown if he did not return?

The King assured them all that he would return, however, if only to appease their concerns, he named his trusted cousin as his successor; leaving him with a list of those councillors he would trust beyond death and those who he believed would sooner sell their mother than obey his commands.

The following evening the King rode out with his lone companion, the kneeling knight, to guide him.

It took them twenty days to reach the clearing. As they rode up to the edge of the forest, the King's eyes were blinded by the sunlight reflected on the mounds of armour and jewellery piled at the entrance to the clearing. Deftly swinging off his horse, the King instructed the kneeling knight to wait by the clearing entrance for no longer than three hours, if he could not pull himself from the coffin in that length of time, he would not be able to move at all.

Entering the clearing and picking his way through the bones littered across the ground, the King carefully avoided the crumpled bodies of his own knights, still recognisable in their armour, and the other bones to let his eyes rest on the glass coffin.

Inside it was a woman.

The King could not fault her physical appearance. Her hair was the ebony black of betrayal and death that the mad knight had spoken of, her skin was the pale white of innocence and purity and her lips were the same red as that of love and blood. Yet despite her physical perfections, the King could not see her as beautiful, surely nothing to keep a man transfixed.

His eyes roved her body, noting her arms lying by her sides and her feet crossed at the ankles.

He could see the dress she was still wearing moulding to her body, outlining her figure. And even as his eyes looked upon her, he could not understand how the bones had piled around the clearing and surrounded the coffin in adoration.

He tried to turn his eyes from her and found no difficulty in looking towards the entrance of the clearing, back at where he could see the kneeling knight pacing restlessly.

So why could no one else look away?

He turned to his unmoving companions in the clearing, wanting to ask them what they had found so haunting and captivating about this beauty that they would spend the rest of their lives before it.

He had seen many of the same features on other women. The same angular cheekbones, puckered lips, thin fingers, and delicately shaped brows. They were things he had seen before, individual features all highlighted on other women. Yet somehow the compression of all these features into one face seemed extravagant and more ethereal than ever.

The King frowned, his eyes willingly fixed on her form, tracing her, inspecting every detail as though he could spot the feature that transfixed men.

He didn't find any such thing, even as he stood watching her for the last hour.

Finally, he left the clearing, turning his eyes from the beauty and leaving her alone again, surrounded by her dead suitors.

The kneeling knight was utterly astonished by the King's approach, having already given up hope of his liege and expecting him to remain motionless. It was with joy that he realised he was proven wrong. Embracing his liege, the kneeling knight thanked the Gods for sparing his King, and together the pair rode from the clearing in safety and sanity.

Two weeks later, the King's return to the castle was greeted with cheers, applause and bemusement. Nobody could understand how the King had been able to turn away from the coffin and return to the castle, physically unaffected by the enchantment of the clearing.

The kneeling knight had sworn on his life and knighthood before the court that the Kind had looked at the coffin for three hours before leaving the clearing, yet despite his oath many courtiers still did not believe that their King had looked upon the coffin and walked away.

There were some moments when the King himself didn't believe it. However he found that the image of the woman remained in his mind. He could still see the woman in the clearing in his mind.

He would sit though council meetings wondering how many more men had wandered into the clearing and lost themselves in her beauty since his own journey. His dinners became filled with internal debates questioning how she could remain untouched by nature's vultures and maggots. He would visit the castle library multiple times a day searching for her in history. Before the end of their visit every foreigner would be subjected to hearing the story of the unaffected King.

He could speak of the woman to no-one but the mad knight, who had become a sort of fool within his court, spurting poems, riddles and unfunny jokes in a constantly calm voice.

"Her appearance is consuming no?" The maddened knight asked as he skipped beside his King.

"Not for me, it seems."

"She is though. She is the sun; all who see her forget what life was like in the darkness."

"Then why could I look away?" And despite his madness, the knight's following words were even and measured.

"Some men can still remember the darkness even when bathed in sunlight. Some men remember that all they need do is close their eyes and let the darkness surround them." The King turned to look at the knight in contemplation.

The King had spent the following days wrapped in thought.

He announced, to the consternation of the court, that he was making a second visit to the clearing, that he wished to see the coffin again and prove he could walk away from it a second time.

Once again, he rode out with the kneeling knight to the clearing and, just as he had last time, he set his eyes upon the coffin and the woman inside. As before, he found no difficulty in turning away from her visage and leaving the clearing. He returned to the castle but once again found his mind distracted by her.

Mere days after having returned, he set out again to visit her clearing, many courtiers were whispering that maybe he was struck mad be her appearance, just differently. He convinced himself he remained as sane as ever and that it was his choice to approach her again. And, just as before, he had looked upon her beauty and been able to turn away. It was mystifying. He found himself questioning her beauty and his own eyes. Maybe he ought to wear spectacles as the wizened librarian did?

He left the clearing for the third time and returned to the castle, to the muted greetings of its inhabitants.

He found himself wanting to visit and look upon the woman in the glass case every day. Although he never found himself transfixed by her in the clearing, somehow her beauty continued to thrive in his mind. It radiated off every thought he had, growing ever more unearthly each passing day. He found that the only remedy he could apply to his mind was to lay his eyes upon the glass coffin and see the reality of her beauty, rather than letting his mind exaggerate it.

Days later an idea began to take root in his mind. He was sure it would be greeted with scepticism and suspicion from all corners of the castle, but he found it impossible to disregard the idea now that his mind had begun to fester on it.

He would bring her back.

He would bring her back to the castle, coffin and all.

His announcement was greeted with a mixture of anger, curiosity and a number of undisguised remarks regarding his sanity, yet his determination would not be averted. And so he set together a group of knights, expressly forbidden to enter the clearing unless he asked for them, followed by a practical carriage large enough to carry the coffin.

Their journey took longer than usual as a result of the lumbering carriage, coming to an end on the twenty eighth day.

The King dismounted, hurrying into the clearing hauling a large cloth beside him. His eyes were immediately drawn to the glass coffin in the centre of the clearing. For a moment the King found himself rooted to the spot, mesmerised by the woman's beauty. He gently let his fingertips rest upon the glass, tracing the outline of her figure.

Abruptly shaking his head, the King shook out the thick cloth he had been holding and covered the coffin in its entirety. He quickly strode around the coffin, bones crunching under his steps, as he began to nail the cloth to the wood. When he was certain of the surety of the cloth's position he called to his knights, inviting them into the clearing. One by one they stepped into the clearing to stand around the covered coffin and at the King's command, lifted it onto their shoulders and stole it from the clearing.

The knights slid the covered coffin into the carriage, before remounting their horses and beginning the return to their kingdom.

Their return was greeted with a collection of cheers and sobriety. The King's oldest advisor looked at him with caution in his eyes.

The mad knight stood alone, separated from the others. From the moment the coffin entered the castle, the knight's eyes became fixated upon the coffin. Except instead of seeing a hopeless longing and lust within the knight's eyes, the King only saw a deep emptiness.

As the coffin was carried into a specially prepared room the King heard a half-whispered warning fall from the mad knight's lips.

"She is too beautiful for words. Men who see her face are blinded and forget any woman they love. Her appearance is consuming."

Reassuring himself with the knowledge that the knight was mad and thus in no position to be threatening or indeed that he ought be heeded in any way, the King ordered the room to be emptied leaving him alone with the still covered coffin.

However as one of the knights walked around the coffin he tripped, falling heavily against the still covered coffin, pushing it from its pedestal just enough for the coffin to tip towards the ground.

With a curse, the King made to snatch at the coffin despite knowing his efforts were in vain. The knight tried to atone for his clumsiness, trying to haul the coffin back with both hands but his efforts were hampered by the cloth still covering the coffin and as his hands tightened around the material, the knight pulled the cloth from the coffin, letting light fall through the glass to see the woman inside.

"TURN AWAY!" The King thundered as the coffin hit the floor and the glass cracked. But it was too late, though he could not see his eyes, the knight's body had taken on the same stiff quality of those in the clearing. Cursing the King rounded on the knight roughly shoving him from the coffin and out of the room despite his shouted protests and forceful kicks. Roaring for guards the King had them lead the knight away, still shouting and swearing that no bars would keep him from the woman.

"You should never have brought her here."

The King turned to see the mad knight standing in the castle corridor, staring hard at the King. The King scowled before entering the 'coffin-room' and locking the door tightly behind him finally allowing him time alone with the coffin and its encased figure.

The King's eyes rested on the coffin, finally noticing it lying cracked on the ground, and seeing the previously paralysed figure stirring inside the coffin.

He watched in stunned silence as the figure began to move her fingers, gracefully wriggling them, before turning in the coffin and focusing her eyes on him.

"Would you mind?" She asked gently, red lips moving entrancingly as she gestured to the glass.

It was only then the King realised he had not moved or in fact breathed since noticing her movements.

In a daze he reached forth and pulled her from the coffin.

As she stood beside him he noticed she seemed to have caught herself on the coffin's glass, a long gash had opened up on her left forearm. Hurriedly he ripped his own shirt into a temporary bandage and moved to wrap it around her arm. She laughed lightly, pushing his fumbling hands away.

"I don't feel it, it can't be so deep. Just a mere scratch."

The King wasn't like to disagree with the woman so early after her sudden rising, but as he gave the gash a second look his experience in battle told him it was far deeper than she imagined it to be. These thoughts were pushed aside as he noticed the woman's look of confusion as her eyes roamed over the sparse room. He hurried to introduce himself and welcome her to his court.

"My lady," He bowed deeply, sweeping his robes aside.

As he rose from his bow, he saw that she was not paying him any attention, but that she had bent to the floor and picked up what looked like a piece of fruit. She straightened her spine and held the piece up to her eyes, looking at it closely.

"It was in my throat." She whispered thickly as she lifted her other hand to rub her throat tenderly. Sparing another glance at the stunned woman the King opened the door and ordered the two soldiers standing outside the door to ensure that the corridors between his own chamber and the 'coffin room' were empty.

The King turned back to the woman and taking ahold of her hand, he led her from the room down the deserted castle corridors to his own chambers.

The King kept the woman hidden from prying eyes for a week. But it would not last. The presence of a woman whom many were calling 'the fairest in the land' had, of course, stirred significant interest and curiosity from all corners of the kingdom.

So, despite the unexpected appearance of a young serving boy in his chambers late one afternoon, the King was not shocked, he had witnessed the draw her beauty had, though never having believed to have felt it himself.

Grabbing the boy by the scruff of his neck he dragged him from the room unceremoniously dumping him in a heap outside his chamber.

Snow White had apparently been unperturbed by the boy's appearance. She was sitting by the window staring at the snowflakes falling from the sky. She held out her hand and caught snowflakes in her palm, they appeared translucent against her own pale skin.

It was only after the King turned away from her to sit at his writing desk that he realised the boy had not screamed or begged to see the woman. Unlike the other men who had laid eyes on her beauty the boy had simply scampered off down the corridor. The King dismissed the strangeness of this occurrence, concluding that the serving boy must be half blind or far too dense for Snow White's beauty to affect him.

So it was with a strange sense of déjà vu that the King witnessed an older Lord break into his chambers and as he caught the Lord and pulled him from the room, to his disbelief the Lord remained silent, nor did he struggle against the King's grip. As the King pushed the Lord from the room, he saw the mad knight sitting, cross legged beside his chamber door.

As the elder Lord walked away the mad knight spoke,

"Her appearance is indescribable, it cannot be deciphered with words, portraits or even eyes. Every eye sees something different, every eye sees the same."

The King turned back to his chamber, but before closing his door he heard the knight chuckle softly under his breath and whisper,

"You should never have awoken her. It will spell chaos for this kingdom."

The King closed his chamber doors with a prompt snap.

Turning to look at Snow White as he saw her once again sitting by the window looking out towards the snow covered ground. It may have been a distortion of the light dancing across her, but for the first time the King saw the beauty she possessed. The sunlight seemed to dance upon her fair skin so it made her seem bathed in light. Like an angel. The King let his eyes hang on her figure longer.

_Two Weeks Later_

"The King has gone mad."

They were walking down the corridor together, their footsteps silent and conversation hushed. His companion was silently walking along beside him, the only indication of her presence was the slight rustling of her skirts.

"I cannot stand to see him like this. He could have been one of the greatest King's in this or any other Kingdom's history. Instead he has fallen under the spell of a crumbling silent statue. What am I to do? I cannot see him waste away like this, it is tearing my heart apart."

He stopped and turned to face his wife.

"Annamaria, I am losing the love of my life. I feel as though I myself am dying."

His wife, Annamaria, smiled silkily, wrapping her arms around her husband's shoulders pulling him close and whispering to him.

"I promise you Orion, the King will have returned to his sense within a week."

He pulled himself out of her arms abruptly.

"How can you promise that? He has been like this for near three weeks now. I see no improvement; I only see his further deterioration and IT IS KILLING ME." His shoulders were shaking as he stood before his wife.

She held her hand against his cheek.

"All the women in the Kingdom hate her. Fairest in the land the King calls her. Have you seen her? She is in part dead. Where every man was besotted at her radiance as she lived, now… no man but the King can see her beauty. Her appearance was consuming and in its consumption, it has eaten away at her. Some men see beauty in obsession and some rare few see beauty in death. But my husband, have I ever let you down?"

His answer was seen in the glance he sent her.

"But how will you…"

Annamaria was already walking from him.

Snow White hardly ever left her room in the castle. She would sit by the window and watch the snow continue to fall.

Absentmindedly she picked her flaking skin from one of her fingers. She had almost removed all the skin. She could see the pale pink muscles stretched where her finger was. She felt no horror looking at it. In fact the gash the coffin's glass had caused on her arm had become blotched with dried pus and rotting flesh.

She wished she had never returned.

In her dreams she had wished someone would find her and save her from her horror.

And in her dreams someone had. He had been handsome and loving and had taken her away on a white horse to marry her. They had been happy together. They had children together, she could still feel the pain of her son's birth.

She had had a life in her dreams.

She was dying in reality.

Everything she saw around her had eerie reminders of her dream-life. She couldn't look at the castle throne room without seeing her dream-life's castle and throne room, haunting her of her past life. She saw her son's cheeky smile in the smile of the page boy.

Reality was torturing her.

She wanted to return to her dream-life and she knew how she could return to it, but she didn't have the courage for it.

So it was with a poignant horror that she stood at the top of the royal staircase one night, alone, looking down at the stairs.

Hearing footsteps she turned to see Annamarie standing at the other balustrade of the staircase watching her carefully.

"Did you want me to push you down the stairs or do you have the courage to throw yourself?"

Annamarie scrutinised Snow White as Snow turned to look back down the staircase.

"I think you should have to push me for me to die. I would never be able to throw myself off with such force."

Annamaria nodded slowly, still watching Snow White.

"Do you want me to?"

"If you did die, would the King be free of your beauty?"

"Probably... I wouldn't know. I've never experienced this, I don't think anyone has. But I would expect so."

Snow White turned back to face Annamaria to face her scrutinising gaze.

"Could you do it?"

Annamaria tilted her head, shrugging her shoulders.

Snow White turned back to the stairs. Even as she heard Annamaria walk towards her and stand behind her, Snow refused to turn away from the staircase.

Snow flakes fall in one direction, they only ever have the one movement; a downward movement. They may not realise they are falling, they may feel as though they are flying to freedom. And in some ways they may be. But in falling they can also bring freedom to others; freedom from worries and concerns, freedom from anger and frustration and even from tumultuous joy. Watching snow flakes fall can bring events into perspective and they can free you from remaining consumed by such events.

Snow flakes are simple things.

Death is simple.

_AN: _

_Finally updated._

_I have to apologise for the insanely long time between updates. Don't be too angry. The justification I have, no matter how inadequate, is that I have been in the middle of masses of work, essays galore, two jobs and other mundane stuff. But I am continuing this series, don't you worry about that. _

_I would also just like to add in my own disclaimer, this one may seem more morose than the others but I would like to make it clear that Snow White and the Seven Dwarves (both the Disney and Grimm versions) was one of my favourite fairytales as a child, and this idea was just too good to pass up. _

_Don't ask me why I didn't name this King. I did try to. But he just didn't want to seem to be named. I guess it sort of works though & balances the fact that 'Snow White' isn't really a name either (well to my mind anyway). _

_Hehe, um so I don't think it worked, but I tried to make the mad knight into a 'Puck' type figure. If you don't know who Puck is (think dear ol' William) stop reading fanfiction, go to your biggest local bookstore and find and buy a complete collection of the dear old English playwright William Shakespeare's works. READ IT, cover to cover. Hehe._

_Oh and, once again in the spirit of my 'sounds-like-a-real-word-but-apparently-isn't' style, see if you can guess which word is apparently improper grammar. I really do have to go through and read the dictionary or something, this is becoming ridiculous. ;D_

_Teaser: growth, dark, withered_


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